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<title>you are (not) tennyson. by Aenphobia</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345412">you are (not) tennyson.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenphobia/pseuds/Aenphobia'>Aenphobia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bang Chan-centric, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inspired by Poetry, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Second Person, its not super sad i promise, only for a bit, very light and internal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:14:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenphobia/pseuds/Aenphobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>i sometimes hold it half a sin<br/>
to put in words the grief i feel<br/>
</p>
  <p>- alfred tennyson, <i>in memoriam a.h.h.</i></p>
</blockquote>Or, love is loss, isn't it? At least, it's what Chris has always believed.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bang Chan/Lee Felix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Drabbles Challenge for Chaotic Writers</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you are (not) tennyson.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i>i am a part of all that i have met.</i><br/>- alfred tennyson, <i>ulysses</i> </p><p>written for international fanworks day. to everyone who writes, reads, comments on, gives kudos to fic: you make my experience of the world a better place. thank you for being here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>tis better to have loved and lost<br/>
than never to have loved at all</em>
</p><p>Chris is 22 years old when he mentions the quote in passing. He translates it into messy Korean for Hyunjin because he’s wailing about a sad drama he watched.</p><p>In the area of his vision that Chris reserves for Felix, Chris sees his face scrunch up adorably, he makes a fart sound, also adorably, “Bleh. I hate that quote.” He doesn’t look up from whatever he’s playing on his phone.</p><p>Chris tilts his head. He’s been parroting that quote since he was old enough to read. “Why? I think it’s pretty good.”</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>you are 7 years old and you love music and books and movies. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>you read the quote from something, or hear it come out of a wise old cartoon man’s mouth. it resonates with you because it sounds very deep and you’ve always been mature for your age.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you use it to get your parents to agree to adopting berry, bridging their hesitation about the potential loss of a beloved pet with stolen wisdom.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you use it when your friends experienced their first heartbreaks; you use it as a joke when someone finishes their snacks too fast.</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>“Of course you do.” Felix mutters in English. Chris hears him die in the game but Felix doesn’t look up. Chris frowns.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean.” Chris isn’t offended as much as he’s confused. The room falls silent.</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>you are 13 years old and full of ambition when you give up on a certain kind of love.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you learn it is a luxury people like you cannot afford. you shove the quote into the back of your mind, tuck it behind self-taught music theory, bury it under dance and vocal lessons.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you comfort yourself with the other types of love you are still allowed to have, but those all come with loss too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you love your fellow trainees and friends, when they debut or quit, you console yourself with a version of that quote. that it is better to have met and been their friend, to have had the opportunity to grow along with them, even if they leave you behind.</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>Felix finally looks away from his phone. He still does not look up. “‘S nothing. I just don’t like that quote.”</p><p>Chris fails to not take it personally. He crosses his arms, “Why not?”</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>you are 18 years old and stressed out beyond even your maturity when you realize that love is not something you can just choose to give up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you fall in love with someone who is somehow new and familiar at the same time. he is full of love and easy affection and joy, just like you were. you vow you will never leave him behind.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you hide your feelings under a veneer of tough leader love, then brotherly love. you tell yourself that you’ve prepared for this since you were old enough to read. that love means loss and that’s ok. you’re used to loss.</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>“Because.” Felix says, slow and measured. He finally meets Chris’s eyes. “It’s just better to love and not lose.” He says it so simply, his naivety at least means Chris did something right. It still makes him want to scream.</p><p>“Sometimes we don’t get a choice.” It comes out lower and harsher than he'd expected. The strain of trying to keep his voice even.</p><p>Felix flinches.</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>you are 19 years old and newly acquainted with the taste and burden of success when you start reading poetry for inspiration.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you stumble upon a poem with your familiar quote. it is two lines in a 90 page poem that alfred tennyson wrote for the dead man who was his sister’s husband. the man who he loved without hope of reciprocation or acknowledgement because it was better than not allowing himself to love at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you read the rest of that poem.</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>Chris watches Felix’s jaw tense. He’s spent countless hours studying Felix’s voice. He recognizes the nearly insignificant waver when Felix says with a soft smile, “We don’t always lose, Chris.”</p><p><em>We</em>. A single word undoes 90 pages of poetry.</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>you are 22 years old when you realize tennyson wrote about grief. you realize you are not yet grieving; you may never have to grieve.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you are 22 when you kick changbin out of your room and ask felix to talk; when you share a bed with him for the first time later that night.</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>Chris is 22 when he realizes he doesn’t always have to lose.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i made sure to age chan for when the one kids room came out :)</p><p>this was originally a homestuck au but tennyson hits</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://twitter.com/chnsredhot">twt: 24/7 chanlix brainrot</a><br/><a href="https://curiouscat.me/Aenphobia">curiouscat: send me poems</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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